


All You Knead Is Love

by ce_la



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Massage, Spa Treatments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-14 22:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15398922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ce_la/pseuds/ce_la
Summary: Of course, he could always cancel the appointment, but despite first impressions, he is not a quitter. He has taken the challenge and will face the consequences, whatever they may be. Besides, as much as he wants to deny it, the idea had been a good idea. Not to mention that the idea had belonged to a certain Phichit Chulanont, which meant that Yuuri never had a choice in the matter to begin with.“You are all set for a ‘Signature Deluxe Sapphire Therapy Massage’! See you Friday!”He is actually going to go through with this.Ridiculous.* * *Nervous boy gets a spa massage.





	All You Knead Is Love

 

 

“Yuuri Katsuki, you said?”

“Yeah."

“Email?”

“ka2don, at…"

Yuuri cannot believe he is in the middle of handing over his contact information, just like that. There goes the email, and there goes the phone number. A small, anguished part of his brain is screaming for him to stop, but Yuuri knows it is too late to back out.

Of course, he could always cancel the appointment, but despite first impressions, he is not a quitter. He has taken the challenge and will face the consequences, whatever they may be. Besides, as much as he wants to deny it, the idea had been a good idea. Not to mention that the idea had belonged to a certain Phichit Chulanont, which meant that Yuuri never had a choice in the matter to begin with.

“You are all set for a ‘Signature Deluxe Sapphire Therapy Massage’! See you Friday!”

He is actually going to go through with this.

Ridiculous.

 

* * *

 

It was a Tuesday, not unlike any other Tuesday, when Yuuri came home from class only to be faced with a roommate giving him a look of pure, unbridled determination. He was well acquainted with that look. Phichit shoved a small card into Yuuri's hands, and instructed, in a scarily cloying voice, “Mr. Katsuki, you are going to this place, and you are getting that shoulder sorted out, or else.”

_Golden Touch Spa_

_GIFT CERTIFICATE_

“But this isn't-”

“No, it is not a sports therapy clinic, but they had amazing reviews and a killer Groupon. If they don't have enough expertise to fix you up, I promise to send you to my PT as a follow up. Besides, at the very least it should be a relaxing time. You’ve been a walking ball of nerves all month.“  

The motivator for this had been the nagging tightness in Yuuri’s shoulder, which was not too bad, all things considered, but had him complaining even during their Netflix marathons. Clearly unforgivable. Movie nights aside, Phichit had also picked up on his friend’s recent dip in spirits and knew from experience that pushing Yuuri slightly out of his comfort zone often did just the trick to get his momentum going again.

“…but-”

“But nothing."

And that was that, as they say.

 

* * *

 

As much as Yuuri likes to pretend this is not the case, he is, in fact, going through a career crisis at twenty-two years old.

It has now been months since his disastrous display at Sochi, and he is in Detroit, missing Vicchan, missing his family, getting ready for more competitions on the horizon, and almost as an afterthought, trying to keep his grades up. A brutally insistent part of him keeps screaming for him to give up and go home, but then there is something else, something that does not like to lose. Yuuri is in a sad kind of limbo, going through the motions to stay in the game, all the while craving a change, any kind of change.

Nothing is keeping him in Detroit. Even Phichit will be gone at some point. The other skater is younger, but has already set his sights on fresh new projects back in Thailand. If Yuuri were to follow him out there, it would feel like an empty shell of a career — shadowing someone else’s because you don’t know what to do with yours. This has him feeling trapped in a constant low-key anxiety; all he wants is a cause, either a reason to fall in love with his day-to-day practice in Detroit, or a reason to fall out of love with skating professionally. He hopes it will not be the latter.

Phichit's distractions are usually welcome in times like these, but right now, this massage situation is just another stressor.

Although Yuuri is no stranger to sports massage and physical therapy, he has only ever experienced it in professional settings — competitions, clinics, and so on. In fact, Celestino makes a point of asking everyone who studies with him to have a regular, go-to therapist, the idea being that long-term relationships would yield the biggest benefits. Each session should bring deeper insights on the therapist’s part and help build a mutual comfort for the skater. Supposedly. For now Yuuri has Phichit’s regular as his backup-regular, in case Celestino asks. He has been twice so far, both times leaving with less tension, certainly, but no strong feelings either way.

Spa massages, on the other hand, are a whole different ball game, one he does not know the rules to. Would it be the same techniques, or something else? Would he need to get naked? What if he does and he’s not supposed to?

Yuuri has two days to figure this out and the clock is ticking.

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri comes back from class, Starbucks in hand, he finds his roommate at home, busy putting away a small mountain of groceries.

“Did you do it!?” asks Phichit, turning away from a pyramid of yogurts.

“This isn’t some sort of legendary quest, you know,” Yuuri says with an eye roll. He kicks off his shoes and makes his way over to their small kitchen.

“Oh my god, you did! Hey, in Yuuri-world it might as well be. You know, I didn’t think you had it in you.” Phichit seems entirely too happy at this turn of events.

Yuuri sighs.  “What am I going to do?”

“About what?”

“This… massage situation! How do I prepare? What do I bring?”

Phichit snickers. “Prepare for what? Are you being serious right now? Just go and enjoy yourself. Maybe we should get some drinks in you beforehand.”

“Oh god no! I’d just fall asleep on them…”  Yuuri gasps. “Phichit! What if I do fall asleep!?"

“You know that’s okay, right? Happens all the time? Listen, I can go with you, if you want.”

“No! No, that’s worse.”

Phichit bursts out laughing.

Leaving his coffee safely on the table, Yuuri sits down, head in his hands. The offending shoulder muscle twitches, as if to taunt him.

“Nnnghhh.”

“You’ll thank me afterwards."

 

* * *

 

The day arrives like an uninvited guest. 

Yuuri opens his eyes and immediately wonders if there is a penalty for canceling day-of. There's a half-day of training on the schedule, followed by the dreaded event itself, although a traitorous part of him is looking forward to a post-workout massage. He will likely have to go straight from the gym, so he makes sure to take everything he needs for the most thorough shower of his life.

If there is one constant Yuuri can rely on in this current state of confusion, it is his love of skating. No matter where the next few months may lead, he knows he will never stop skating. Whether or not it is something he will be doing professionally… well, that is a different matter.

In a way, having something new to temporarily occupy his mind has allowed Yuuri to focus on school and practice, at least for this little stretch of time. Long restless nights have been replaced with evenings of Googling “spa massage frequently asked questions”.

Still, it is comforting to think that several hours from now it will all be over and Yuuri will be back home, maybe even without having embarrassed himself outrageously.

Yuuri steps outside and starts jogging towards the university gym.

 

* * *

 

When he finally arrives at Golden Touch Spa’s beautifully designed, yet unpretentious front door, Yuuri sees a number of customers trickling in and out. The lobby is one spacious loft, everything else hidden behind closed doors that occasionally open to admit a patron. The decor is modern, exposed brick with an industrial feel, at the same time showcasing plenty of rustic elements. "Standard hipster", Phichit would say.

For a while, Yuuri stands there simply looking around. It smells wonderful, earthy wood tones reminding him of home. When his eyes land on the reception desk, he realizes he is being watched. A cute redhead is looking over at him with a smile that only widens as she notices Yuuri look up.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, sorry, I have an appointment for three o’clock.” He tries to inconspicuously glance at the clock, which shows two minutes past three.

“Okay! ...and what is your name?”

Yuuri approaches the desk. “Sorry! Yes. Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Ah yes, I remember.” The girl, Mila, is still smiling.

He wishes a tunnel could open up beneath him and drop him into his bed right now.

“Would you like a ginger-turmeric shot while I pull up your details?“

Yuuri graciously accepts.

 

* * *

 

“Follow me please.”

Oh no. This is it.

Turning around, Mila opens one of the mystery doors behind her and leads Yuuri into a quiet hallway. It is scented with something pleasant that he cannot place. Not quite eucalyptus, but refreshing nonetheless. The lights are dim and low, lining the sides of the stone corridor in elaborate arrangements. From the speakers, he can hear deep strings and flutes coming together to form another dimension to this relaxing ambiance.  Reluctantly, Yuuri admits to himself that it is having a pleasant effect on his nerves.

Stopping in front of the last door, Mila slides it open and gestures for Yuuri to step inside.

_This is fine,_ he thinks. _If it’s her, it’s fine. I can handle this._  He is beginning to feel better and better about the whole affair.

Mila offers a couple of instructions:

“You can leave your clothes on this chair. Some people prefer to keep their underwear on, but most undress completely. Whatever you like. Once you’re done, get under the sheets right here...” She gestures to a neatly made massage table. "I will give you a few minutes and then send in your therapist.”

Huh?

"…okay.”

Mila shoots him another one of her smiles. “Great!”

The door shuts with a resounding click. Yuuri can’t help but stand there for a moment, overcome by a mixture of dazed stupor and nerves.

Managing to shake himself out of it, he peels off his clothes and stacks them carefully on the corner chair.

At last, he settles on the massage table, head resting on top of folded arms. This is it.

 

* * *

 

Several nervous breaths later, there’s a soft knock.

“Come in?”

The door opens and a voice greets him with a simple, “Hello Yuuri.”

Mystery voice is smooth, rich, and accented, but Yuuri cannot place the accent.

He is not sure whether to turn around or stay in position, so he opts for propping himself up on his elbows and twisting around to meet his therapist face-to-face.

This may be his biggest mistake yet.

Standing over Yuuri is one of the most stunning men he has ever seen, looking down at him with glorious light-blue eyes and a brilliant smile. His brain kindly informs him that he is doomed. Doomed. As much as he doesn’t want to leave this gorgeous blond with a corpse on his hands, Yuuri is pretty sure he will die of mortification before the hour is up.

“I'm Victor. Ready to get started?”

“Unhh. Yes. Nice to meet you, sorry.”

Victor gives him another smile in response and turns around to retrieve what must be supplies.

( _What supplies?_ Yuuri’s brain wonders frantically.)

“Tell me if it’s too hard, okay?”

“O-okay.”

 

* * *

 

When Victor finally puts his hands on Yuuri’s body, he leaves no room for nerves.

Yuuri is conquered by strong, gentle pressure running all over his back, integrating all of the various sensations together into one fluid movement. He starts out slow, pressing down and feeling out Yuuri’s back through the covers, but already it activates all sorts of exhausted muscles and Yuuri is getting used to the contact.

“How is this? Not too hard?”

“Just perfectly... perfect…” Yuuri lets slip without reservation.

Victor chuckles somewhere behind him and Yuuri doesn’t mind. He can sense that this man is not laughing out of malice. Oddly, he feels a certain trust between them, almost a familiarity.

Next, Victor starts introducing an entire assortment of techniques. He uses his palms, elbows, and other surprising planes of his arms to achieve all sorts of delightful effects. It all feels well designed and somehow almost… artful. Not too long passes before Victor places his attention on the offending spot of pain buried deep in Yuuri's shoulder muscles. The therapist does not say anything, but only explores deeper and deeper, full concentration on the work. It hurts, but not too much to bear. It is clear that this will take some work; the skater begins to zone out as these explorations take on an almost meditative quality.

Yuuri loses his sense of time. Has it been minutes? Hours? Who knows. Out of the blue, he finds himself shocked awake into pure pleasure. Victor is applying his lovely long fingers to the muscles covering the back of his neck, each stroke setting off fireworks of bliss in Yuuri’s poor little nerves. He cannot help but whimper. It's official. He has stopped caring.

“Is this okay?” Victor leans down, hands still on Yuuri's neck.

“Yes? Perfect, thank you. I-uh fine.”  Yuuri no longer recalls how to talk like a normal person. _Another five minutes and I will forget my own name,_ he thinks.

Fortunately, Victor does not stop his ministrations. Although his hands are gone from the skater's neck, he has resumed work on his back, paying special attention to elusive muscles that always get a hard workout, but almost never a good stretch.

Yuuri suddenly feels Victor shift right next to his head, and wow. Incredible. Victor is on the table, using his body weight to gain access to the most challenging knots hidden deep in Yuuri’s back. Great, Nervous Yuuri is back in full force. Relaxed Yuuri apparently could not handle six feet of beautiful man on top of him, feeling his large, warm hands in all their glory.

But of course, Victor is a professional, and it does not take long for Yuuri to let go and slip right back into a blissful haze.

 

* * *

 

When his eyes open again, Yuuri has the distinct feeling that he missed something. His limbs, as great as they feel right now, have the sluggish sensation of just having woken up.

“What? Did I fall asleep?” He blurts out, and immediately regrets.

Victor laughs from somewhere near the wall. “Still some time left, don’t worry.”

Before the mortification can settle in, Victor’s hands reappear on the back of Yuuri's thighs, working hard to undo the tension they are so used to carrying around. The thighs in question respond by twitching and Yuuri unconsciously apologizes yet again. Victor says nothing, but does not remove his hands even for a little bit.

Although Yuuri is significantly more awake now, the rest of the massage is just as exquisite as the beginning, and all too soon, the hour is up.

Yuuri lays still, breathing slowly, deeply, and openly, as Victor stashes away extra towels. He has no words. Usually his body is fraught with such tension, that this is quite a change.

“Well,” begins Victor, “I will see you outside. Just take your time and come out when you’re ready."

_Never,_ thinks Yuuri.

Several lazy, impressively deep breaths later, Yuuri sits up and tries to make a move towards the stack of clothes on the chair. It is _hard_. Every inch of his body feels like jelly and warm sheets beckon him right back. A nap would be absolutely heavenly right now; he is beginning to dread the walk home. Yawning, again, Yuuri starts to pull on his socks.

By the time he is fully dressed and reaching for the doorknob, Yuuri suddenly remembers what awaits him outside this little chamber. Victor, huh? A flush passes over him. How on earth is he supposed to look Victor in the eye, after the incredible, sensual experience they just shared? _No,_ Yuuri stops himself, _not ‘shared'. He is a professional and I am a client. A client with a raging attraction to the man, but a client nonetheless. I bet everyone has the same reaction._

Shaking his head, he turns the knob and steps out.

As Yuuri approaches the desk, he can hear two giggling voices carrying down the hall - one Mila’s, and one… Victor’s? The thought that he is about to get his first good look at the lovely man suddenly strikes Yuuri with fear, but he continues. He steps out to the front of the desk and immediately Victor's eyes lock onto his. Wow.

“Hi Yuuri,” says Victor.

“Hi.”

“How do you feel?” Mila asks.

“Good. Great. I mean, really great. Yeah. Wonderful.” Yuuri is still staring.

“Are you an athlete!?” The blond man says a little too loudly, which makes Yuuri jump.

“Yes? Yes, I skate.”

“You mean, figure skate?” Victor’s eyes widen even more.

“Yeah.” Yuuri is breathless.

“Wow.” He is smiling ear to ear now. “I could tell! I mean, I should have asked before we started, to make sure, normally I do, but um...”  

Victor looks away. To Yuuri, he almost looks embarrassed, but that doesn’t make much sense. What would this gorgeous being have to be embarrassed about?

“Massage and PT are very important to my coach, Celestino. He wants everyone to have a go-to regular therapist, but I don’t really have one yet. Well, I do, but not really. I have someone a friend recommended, but I don’t know them well yet, even though we had two sessions already. It’s only until I find someone for myself. Um. Yeah.”

Yuuri knows he is a complete babbling, blushing mess, but cannot do anything about it right now. Where did that even come from? He consoles himself by aggressively staring at the floor.

“I do that!” exclaims Victor, even louder than before.

Yuuri looks up with a start, but cannot bring himself to say anything. A beautiful man is looking at him expectantly and he is failing to make sense of it.

Another moment passes.

“Yuuri.” Victor leans in, eyes wide. “Can I be your massage therapist?”

Yuuri’s brain grinds to a halt.

“Huh?”

Victor clarifies: “For your skating. If you need someone, I mean.” The confidence is trickling out of his voice.

“Yes. Yes! Of course! Yeah.” Yuuri knows he’s overdoing it, but he has limited control of his facilities right now.

“Wow,” Victor says again. “So I will give you my information, yes? Call me whenever. If you like."

“Ahem,” Mila interjects. “Victor, why don’t you go grab your card while Yuuri and I wrap up, yeah?”

With one last look in Yuuri’s direction, Victor leaves the room. Mila enters a few more things into the terminal and hands Yuuri the receipt.

“So you are all set, since this was prepaid. If you’d like to leave a tip, there is a collection box by the entrance. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you. Both of you.”

With that, Yuuri heads for the anonymous tip box and begins to write Victor’s name on the little yellow envelope, all the while surreptitiously Googling “spa massage tipping etiquette”. Once done, he drops the envelope in the slot and turns around to see Victor back by Mila’s counter, staring in his direction from across the room. He waves something at Yuuri, beckoning him back.

Victor’s _Golden Touch_ business card contains all the basics — name, phone number, email. On the bottom, Yuuri spots a scribbled website address.

“That one's my own site. It has some information about my sports therapy work for you. Take a look and let me know if you have any questions. Just call me, whenever. Or text. If you want. Anytime is fine.” He stops talking when Mila elbows him in the side.  

“O-okay.” Yuuri stutters out, still taking in the man's strong athletic form. He wonders if Victor is an athlete himself, but realizes he missed the chance to ask. The man is dressed in a sleek, black v-neck ( _V for Victor, nice,_ Yuuri’s useless brain supplies), paired with black workout pants and classy leather sneakers.

Yuuri catches himself staring (again) and realizes this is it. There is no more to say or to do. He looks up, manages to squeak out a thank you, and heads for the door and out of the building, suddenly feeling a bit claustrophobic.

Outside, Yuuri takes another deep breath and starts walking in the direction of home. Whatever that was, he will figure it out later.

 

* * *

 

“I… uhm.”

“You… what?”

“I kind of promised he could be my therapist? Accidentally?”

“Whoa, Yuuri. Huh?” Phichit puts the hamster back down and gives Yuuri his full attention.

“I told him about me skating, and Celestino, and needing someone, and he asked if he could do it—“

“Wait, wait, he _asked_? Sounds like someone’s coming on a bit strong,” Phichit says with a smirk.

Yuuri waves it off. “No, it didn’t seem like that. Just…” He pauses. “…pure. And good. I don’t know. He’s so good.”

Phichit’s jaw drops open.

“Ha! I can’t believe you, you have a thing for him.”

“What? Uhm. I don’t know.” Yuuri hides his face in his hands. “…maybe.”

“Katsuki, seriously! First massage ever and you’re all head over heels!” The younger skater cackles with glee.

“First of all,” Yuuri raises a finger, “It was not my first massage. Second-” He is cut off.

“Okay, I need pictures. Does he have Instagram? Does he have pictures on his site? I need to Google him. I need to know who has our Yuuri swooning oh so much.” Phichit already has Facebook up. “Victor what?”

“Nikiforov.”

“Tsk, look at you.” Phichit is cracking up again.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri picks up Victor’s card.

He stares at the card.

He puts it down again with a deep breath.

It has been one long, long day since his visit to Golden Touch. Phichit did not have much luck on the Facebook front, but Victor’s info checked out just fine; he does indeed have the right kind of sports therapy background that Yuuri has been looking for. No experience with figure skating exactly, but he has treated hockey players in the past and has great reviews all around. Yuuri sat there clicking between the three pages on Victor’s site for about thirty minutes straight. He has already added Victor to his contacts. He wants to do this so badly, but is blanking on what to say.

_Hi Victor. How are you?_

No.

_Hi Victor, this is Yuuri from yesterday. We spoke about massage therapy for skating._

Better. Now what?

_Hi Victor, this is Yuuri from yesterday. We spoke about massage therapy for skating. Marry me, I will provide for you and we will live in a beautiful house with many dogs._

What if he doesn’t like dogs?

The absurdity of that thought shocks Yuuri back to reality and the task at hand.

_Hi Victor, this is Yuuri from yesterday. We spoke about massage therapy for skating. I think I’d like to book my next session with you. What does your schedule look like?_

Nice. Solid. He taps Send and mentally prepares himself for the wait that lies ahead.

Seconds later, his phone buzzes.

_‘Hi Yuuri!’_

_Victor is typing..._

_‘I’m so glad to hear from you!!’_

_Victor is typing..._

_‘I’m sorry Yuuri, I think I made a mistake...’_

_Victor is typing..._

Yuuri is panicking.

_‘I didn’t mean to offer to be your therapist’_

_Victor is typing..._

Yuuri has stopped breathing.

_‘I was sorta trying to ask you out instead’_

_Victor is typing..._

_‘But wasn’t sure how to’_

_Victor is typing..._

_‘At the time’_

_Victor is typing..._

_‘Of course, I'd love to be your therapist, but not under false pretenses :('_

_Victor is typing..._

_‘Especially with such "hands-on" work (ha-ha!)’_

_Victor is typing..._

_‘Sorry, I wanted to tell you in person, but Mila said I should do it asap’_

_Victor is typing..._

_‘if you don’t want to see me (in either capacity), I completely understand...’_

Yuuri screams.

Phichit takes one long, scrutinizing look at the screen and without a single word, breaks out the prosecco.

 

* * *

 

The next time Yuuri picks up his phone, it is morning and the pounding in his head has him cursing out the discovery of any and all alcoholic beverages, but especially prosecco, because fuck you prosecco.

Not-so-subtle waves of nausea make it hard to care about any of yesterday’s events. Apparently there was a unanimous decision to respond to Victor after a couple of glasses of wine, and after the couple of glasses of wine, there was another unanimous decision not to respond to Victor until they were sober again. Miserably Hungover Yuuri kindly thanks Drunk Yuuri for the uncharacteristic display of responsible adulthood.

However, the problem persists.

Yuuri’s phone contains a number of unanswered texts from Victor, and as much as he wants to curl up into a ball under the covers, he doesn’t want to leave the man hanging any more than he already has. Yuuri drags himself up into a sitting position, takes a few gulps of water, and gets down to business.

 

* * *

 

About fifteen minutes (and just as many drafts) later, Yuuri has typed out a message. He hits Send.

_‘Ok.’_

He meant to follow it up with something suave and clever, but all of a sudden, his head is blank again, the panic is building, and Victor is typing. Oh no.

_Victor is typing…_

And then nothing.

_Victor is typing..._

And nothing. Of course. What could he possibly say to that?

Yuuri’s fingers jump into action.

_‘Um_

_Can we meet? To talk?’_

_Victor is typing…_

_‘Of course!’_

_‘I’m not very good at this texting thing.’_ Yuuri’s headache is begging for him to get off the phone.

_Victor is typing…_

_’No problem, Yuuri :)  When would you like to meet?’_

The conversation wraps up pretty quickly after that. Through the haze of pain, Yuuri suddenly realizes whom exactly he set up a maybe-date with just now. He doesn’t remember Victor’s face in great detail, but has perfect recollection of how his stunning eyes and beautiful smile made him feel and blushes accordingly.

Phichit begins to stir on the couch.

 

* * *

 

As Yuuri opens the door to the cafe, his eyes do a very quick scan around the room. Once, twice… A third time, slower. No sign of anyone who resembles the gorgeous therapist.

Tiger’s Eye Coffee was a good choice on Victor’s part — a handful of couples and sleep-deprived college students hunched over laptops and books. Reasonably quiet, but not so empty that anybody’s attention will linger.  If only Yuuri could be certain that his companion was coming… Surely he would have texted if he were running late?

The cell phone in his sweaty hand tells him it’s three minutes past their meeting time; Yuuri knows it is not time to worry yet, but cannot do anything about his hammering heart. This is bad. He has worked himself up into quite the state.

Perhaps it would help to get a drink first. A full dose of caffeine right now would not do his anxiety any favors, so Yuuri considers asking the barista about decaf.

“Excuse me-“

The teenage blond behind the counter turns around and stares. Yuuri reconsiders what he was about to ask.

“Um.”

“What?” barks the teen.

“Um, do you guys serve decaf espresso?” Yuuri shouldn’t have said that. He should not have said anything.

“Yes. And ew.”  The barista looks personally offended.

“It’s bad?”

“You don’t want it. Just do full-caf.”

While Yuuri appreciates the advice offered and would normally just roll with it, he does not want to sabotage his entire afternoon, especially this particular afternoon. Victor. Yuuri shakes off the looming thought and remembers to order just in time.

“I think I’ll have a mint tea instead, please.”

The teen huffs at Yuuri and turns around to prepare the drink.

Behind him, the bell on the door announces a new guest. Yuuri recognizes Victor’s accent almost immediately.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite coffee-”

“Shut up!” The barista snaps back without as much as a glance behind him. Of course they would know each other.

“Yuuri! You came!"

Yuuri turns around, finally. Victor looks dashing as ever in a light denim jacket and dark red shirt underneath, paired with The Tightest of Jeans. The skater already feels underdressed, in his long sleeved grey shirt and Average, Not-at-all Interesting Jeans. He cannot even begin to anticipate the conversation they are about to have.

“Of course, yeah.”

Once the tea is handed over, Yuuri gestures towards a table and automatically starts walking over, all without making eye contact. He can barely deal with any of this as it is.

“ _'Yuuri'_??” The teen stage-whispers at Victor, which does nothing to help the tension. The therapist ignores him.

When they finally sit down, Victor does not waste time.

“So. What did you want to say? I’m sorry, by the way. Thought I should apologize in person.” He is a little flustered, but it looks great on him.

“Um. Are you serious?”

“What do you mean?” Victor looks confused.

“About what you said. When you texted me.”

“Oh! Yes, of course!"

“So... I guess this would be our first date or something?” Yuuri doesn’t know why he said that, but Victor’s face lights up.

“Sure, why not!”

“Wait, that made no sense. Sorry, I’m terrible at talking in person too. I mean, obviously.” Yuuri feels his face burning up.

“Yuuri.” Victor smiles with a warmth that Yuuri was not at all prepared for. “You’re fine. But you might have to tell me some more about how you feel about this—” He gestures between the two of them. "In more words."

“Okay. Um.” Is the room heating up all of a sudden? “Okay. You are amazing at what you do, so. Um, so I would love to take you up on your offer- well, both of your offers,” Yuuri is avoiding eye contact like the plague, “—but it also sounds like it could turn out disastrously. Oh god, what am I saying? I mean, I really want to. Just, I know things can get difficult when it’s your profession and all.”  He takes a deep breath.

“Ah, I see,” Victor nods slowly. There is nothing but kindness in his expression, and Yuuri cannot help but relax into it a little bit. No matter where this goes, he feels like Victor is someone he can trust not to laugh at him.  “Well, okay. You know, worst case, I can always find someone else to do your therapy. Insider connections and all.”  Victor waggles his lovely, sculpted eyebrows. “How does that sound?"

Yuuri can’t help but giggle. This marvel of a man who just materialized in his little life seems to be genuinely happy to have his time and attention.

“Alright. We can give it a try.”

“So… first date, was it?” Victor is grinning again.

“Uh. I don’t have anything planned. I didn’t realize.” Yuuri looks down at his tea and continues picking at the paper sleeve on his cup. Next thing he knows, Victor has moved his chair to sit alongside him, and the close proximity is surprisingly comfortable and reassuring.

“Well, here’s what _I’m_ thinking. _I’m_ thinking we can start by getting to know each other.” Victor’s phone is out. Silence. Swipe, tap, tap. “Here is my dog, Makka.”

Yuuri dies a little.

 

* * *

 

The next few hours feel like both, a heartbeat and an eternity. Yuuri still cannot believe how easy it is to spend time talking to Victor. Three teas, one Uber ride, and one walk in the park later, they seem to have covered everything under the sun, and more. Now they have settled into a slow stroll heading towards Yuuri and Phichit’s neighborhood (which is, coincidentally, not too far from Victor’s own condo).

Yuuri’s brain is buzzing with a treasure trove of new Victor facts to moon over: lives close, loves dogs, _has_ amazing dog, adores dancing, teaches yoga, experiments with gourmet recipes and is more than willing to show off. Had it been anyone else, his own inferiority complex would be rearing its beastly head right about now, but all he feels for Victor is pure appreciation. The other man seems to delight in the fact that Yuuri's family runs a hot spring and cannot wait to visit. Somehow this does not seem presumptuous or at all out of place.

Yuuri has talked of his career (“Wow. Amazing!”), inspirations, and more surprisingly, his confusions and anxieties, which he never expected to find himself divulging to a near-stranger. Victor, in turn, recounted his own history of aggressively switching majors, from business, to math, to physics, and beyond. He came to terms with his dream of studying medicine a little too late in the game to make it work, settling into what felt most natural — helping alleviate people’s pain with therapy. The rewarding nature of the work allowed it all to smooth itself out, and these days he is a self-described happy camper. These are conversations Yuuri has not had with anyone but his closest friends, and even then, they were few and far in between.

They have slowed down their pace even more, almost at Yuuri’s doorstep, phones out and both taking note of the cornucopia of dates they have been planning.  A “proper dinner” at Victor's favorite restaurant of all time, a “proper night out with really amazing cocktails” (“no prosecco”, Yuuri quickly adds), a “proper night in”, with proper Netflix and chill and all that jazz. Throw in a rink date, a formal introduction to Makkachin (black tie event), and a home-cooked meal to show off Victor’s prowess, and they are all set. Yuuri’s actual therapy session can wait a bit, they have decided, until after a few meetings.

It is blatantly obvious that neither of them want this day to end, but with all that on the horizon, there is no reason to cling to this particular moment. Victor breaks their disorienting silence:

“Hey Yuuri?”

“Yeah?” Big brown eyes look up at Victor with an unexpected intensity.

“Come here?” With an expression on his face that Yuuri cannot decipher, the blond man opens his arms, inviting him in.  

Yuuri goes for it, suddenly finds himself enveloped in everything Victor, reunited with those same warm hands that enchanted him last week. The bliss of the moment spurs him on: “Let me kiss you good night?”

And as soon as Victor nods, they are melting into each other even more, lips on lips, hands in hair, and Yuuri unapologetically taking what he wants and giving Victor as much as he can give. After a small eternity, they pull apart and the skater starts walking backwards to the door.

“Tomorrow, yeah?”

Yuuri bumps into the railing. “Yeah.”

“Night." Another smile.

Yuuri cannot bring himself to make eye contact again, so he dashes inside, shuts the door, and takes a moment (or ten) to calm down from all of what just happened.

About a half an hour later, the phone buzzes and it’s Victor’s name on the lock screen:

_'Wyd?'_

Yuuri thanks the stars Phichit is not around to witness him melting into a puddle of goo, and with a dreamy smile on his face begins to tap out an answer. Suddenly, his little existence here no longer feels quite as stifling.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
